My father's eyes
by Rose de Sharon
Summary: DMC, settled between the whipping scene and the Turners’ meeting with Wywern, also my explanation of how Will got treatment for his wounds.
1. A gem in hell

**MY FATHER'S EYES**

**By Rose de Sharon**

**SUMMARY**: Settled between the whipping scene and the Turners' meeting with Wywern, also my explanation of how Will got treatments for his wounds.

**Disclaimer**: These characters belong to Mickey Mouse, not me. I'm just borrowing them for some fun!

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**:

- English isn't my native language and I don't have a beta-reader, all mistakes are mine.

- Some details come from the _"Pirates of the Caribbean visual guide",_ published by Dorling Kindersley Ltd., others from Wikipedia the free on-line encyclopedia.

**Feedback**: Flames will be kept as fuel. Ye be warned!

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"You've had it easy, boy! Ha ha ha!" yelled the bo'sun's horrible voice.

Will was trying to recollect himself after his fall from the stairs leading to the middle deck. His back was on fire, his legs and arms hurt, his soul was outraged by the injustice of the chastisement but above everything else, his heart was breaking.

His father had whipped him. His father! The savage anguish was enough to crush his throat and choke him. After all these years of solitude in England and then Port-Royal, Will had completely given up hope to see his father again. When he had met Jack Sparrow, Will had learnt about his father's real activities in the Caribbean and how "Bootstrap" Bill had met his doom, tied to a cannon and thrown overboard after sending one of the Aztec cursed gold coins to his son. Retaliation against Barbossa's mutiny had condemned Bootstrap to spend an eternity at the bottom of the ocean, crushed by the weight of the water but unable to die.

And now, by a terrible twist of fate, Will had barely the time to learn his father was alive but a member of a monstrous crew of cursed sailors, just before being whipped by him!

Will shivered; his torn shirt was soaked and sticking to his lacerated back. Cold rainwater mixed with blood spurting from his wounds, giving him a very small amount of relief from the pain. Using one of the cannons as a crutch, he managed to get back on his feet, knowing any sign of weakness would bring him more undeserved punishment from Davy Jones.

"Will!"

That voice… it was his father's. Will pushed away the cursed seaman out of pride. That was the last person he wanted to see right now!

"I don't need your help!" yelled Will, his voice betraying his sorrow and rage. He gripped the mainmast's cordages to regain his breath, while gritting his teeth against the hurt he was feeling from his back. And yet, that was nothing compared to the pain in his heart!

But Bootstrap Bill wouldn't be demurred by Will's refusal of his help. He grabbed his son's vest he had retrieved from the upper deck and flung it nearby Will.

"The bo'sun prides himself in cleaving flesh from the bones… at every swing!" Bootstrap Bill tried to explain.

"So am I to understand what you did was an act of _compassion?_" Will busted out in disbelief.

"Yes…" answered Bill softly.

Will's first impulse was to accuse his father of lying, to be cruel like the other members of Jones' crew. But his honest nature reined his anger, telling him to look twice at Bootstrap Bill. The youngest Turner couldn't help but feeling pity when he saw his father's physical state: ragged clothing, long dark hair turning into seaweed, corral spurting from his shoulders, barnacles-incrusted face and hands, a starfish half-covering his right eye…

_Bootstrap Bill looked like a ghost out of Dante's inferno._

And yet, his father's eyes were the open windows of a sorrowful soul. Bootstrap Bill had an awkward body attitude, shuffling from feet to feet like he didn't think he deserved to be reunited with the son he had abandoned a long time ago. Still, the blue gaze was fixed on Will and the young man could read a lifetime of melancholy, shame and regret.

Out of the blue, Jack's past words sprung in Will's mind: _"Your father was a good man… and a good pirate."_

His father _had_ tried to protect him despite of the terrible circumstances. When the two crewmen had forcefully held him against the foremast's ratlines, William had been amazed that an unknown sailor stood up against the bo'sun, spontaneously volunteering to be punished in his place. Only Davy Jones' arrival prevented Bill to act on his altruistic move. But out of fear of the Flying Dutchman's captain, the elder Turner had confessed his blood ties with Will and all Hell broke loose.

_Jones had forced Bootstrap to perform the whipping!_

It was Jones the monster, not his father. Bootstrap Bill… was a good man.

Will stared at his father, emotions roaring in his mind like a hurricane: anger, hope, love, and pity… making him unable to think straight. Then a tidal wave of pain swept over him and he couldn't stop a soft groan coming from his lips. His wounds were screaming for treatment and Will knew he couldn't ignore them any longer. On top of everything, he was getting dizzy from the shock and being soaked to the skin didn't help.

A crustacean-covered hand rested lightly on his shoulder, carefully avoiding touching the whip's bloody marks crisscrossing his back.

"Please, Will" pleaded Bootstrap Bill. "Come with me."

Will closed his eyes and then nodded slowly, getting unable to talk. The events were catching up on him and he was in a bad need for a rest. He felt his father's arms encircling his upper body, supporting him as they began walking towards the stairs heading for the below deck, distancing themselves from the rain, the pain and Davy Jones. Will leaned on his father, thankful for that helping hand; a small light in the darkness he had been plunged into after Jack had tricked him to go aboard the _Flying_ _Dutchman_.


	2. Fire in sapphires

**Chapter 2**

**Disclaimer**: The same as chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**: this chapter is dedicated to Smithy!

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Bootstrap Bill knew he had to hurry. His son was loosing consciousness and needed help quickly. The two men were fleeing to the lowest and darkest parts of the ship, where Bill thought there would be less chance being caught skipping the slavish work given to the cursed sailors. Will was silent, leaning heavily against his father, the last of his strength spent with the events of the last past hours.

Years ago, Bootstrap Bill had also experienced the cat o' nine tails from the bo'sun's hand, and he had never forgotten the searing pains on his back even if the curse had healed the whiplashes very quickly. But Will's wounds were still bleeding and his father wondered how it could be: was it because the youngster was too recently cursed?

Bill wanted to ask his son so many questions! The first of all be why on Earth did Will have accepted to serve under Davy Jones' orders. The lad seemed to be strong-minded with a good heart – his father will never forget the courage Will showed during the punishment, refusing to cry out in pain – so how Jones could have convinced such a courageous man to sign up for a hundred years of horror under the mast?

It wasn't the time to ask questions and Will wasn't in any shape to answer them. There was also the possibility the bo'sun would appear and force Will to go back to fatigue-duty; his son would not be able to work in his wounded state, thus giving Jimmy Legs another pretext to whip him.

Bill's eyes shone like sapphires under the sun at the thought; the bo'sun Jimmy Legs, that disgusting sea-slug! He will never lay a hand on Will, not if "Bootstrap" Bill Turner can help it!

The lower part of the hull was poorly lightened but Bill knew the ship from top to bottom and he didn't need a lantern. Will, on the other hand, was constantly bumping into crates or barrels, adding new bruises to the ones he was already supporting. They were reaching the orlop deck when the young Turner's legs suddenly gave up.

"Will!"

The boy promptly collapsed and Bootstrap Bill barely had the time to catch his son before he'd hit the waterlogged wooden floor. A quick exam confirmed him Will had passed out, vanquished by exhaustion and pain. Mindful of the injuries, Bill gathered his son's body as gently as he could. He stood up, the boy cradled in his arms, Will's head resting against his shoulder and neck.

Like a bubble rushing to reach the surface of the sea, a souvenir ran into his mind: _Bill Turner cradling his five-year-old son, whispering reassurances. The boy was sick from the chicken-pox and he had awakened crying in the dead of the night. Bill had sung a lullaby and his child had fallen back asleep in his arms, secure in his father's love…_

Bill shook his head to clear his mind: now was not the time to dwell into the past! But the memories of his loving wife, his baby son and his life in England were struggling for release like a prisoner banging desperately against the bars of his flooded cell. Memories buried in his mind for so many years, under a shroud of shame…

A soft moan escaped Will's lips, urging his father to hurry. Bill Turner rushed towards his destination, his ruined boots sloshing the dirty water running on the floor. He knew a small place downstairs which was always relatively dry, even when the _Flying Dutchman_ goes underwater; a tiny miracle in this hellish place!

"**Goin' som'where, Bootst'ap?"** asked two voices in unison.

Bill stopped and turned around to see who had talked: it was the twin brothers who had joined Davy Jones' crew more than fifty years ago. By a cruel twist of the curse, the brothers had become joined when both their hipbones merged under the pressure of sea life growing on them. They had been nicknamed _"The inseparable"_ ever since. Their real names were Bib and Bob, but no one onboard had bothered to learn which is which.

"I'm taking my son downstairs to tend to him. He's hurt," growled the elder Turner.

"Bo'sun won't like dat!" Bib (or Bob) chuckled.

"Nope, none at-all!" added his brother. "Ya could get whipped… or even yo son could get double share!"

Bill unconsciously held his William tighter to him, wishing he could punch the lights out of this pair of snickering idiots. His blue eyes, usually submissive and melancholic, were gleaming with a light that hasn't shone since he has been sentenced to be thrown overboard by Hector Barbossa. But a plan unfolded into his mind and he answered:

"You two could replace us on the deck."

"**An' why should we do dat?"** asked the two voices.

"Because," said Bill with a small smile, "you both remember the ship we attacked last week. She was loaded with of barrels of excellent rum. But the captain forbade you to have any of it; it was your punishment for mistaking a pack of whales for a prey, the last time you were on the lookout."

The twisted pair of sailors growled in anger, they didn't appreciate being remembered of this goof. Since then, they have been subject of endless ridicule among the crewmembers: occasions to laugh were very rare on the _Flying Dutchman_.

"Now," added Bootstrap Bill, "it happens I have saved my share. You two go replace us on fatigue-duty, without a word to the bo'sun, and the rum is yours. So, what say ye?"

The twins looked at each other wordlessly, but Bill already knew he had won. The inseparable's love for alcohol was famous aboard the cursed ship. It was even said Bib and Bob had sold their souls to Davy Jones not to escape death, but with the promise of free rum for a hundred years!

"You 'ave a deal, Bootst'ap" hissed Bob (or Bib). "But ya'd better 'ave de rum ready when we're back!"

"It will be," answered Bill, and the joined twins headed for the upper deck.

The elder Turner watched their departure for an instant before turning around. He carried on his journey downstairs while carefully holding a treasure in his arms. But it was not made of gold, gems or any other riches which had blinded him during his pirate career. This time, it was a priceless treasure: a hope for redemption, forgiveness and love.

It was his son.


	3. Tears of nacre

**Chapter 3**

**Disclaimer:** The same as chapter 1.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

- Special thanks to Eryn Aldalaith, Larus, Viollerina, Admiral Norrington and Smithy. You are very kind!

- Smarm ahoy! Don't like, don't read!

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Bootstrap Bill had finally reached his refuge: a cramped room lit only by a forgotten lantern. For the life of him, Bill Turner had never understood how this place, located in the lowest parts of the _Flying Dutchman's_ hull, could ever manage to stay dry but now he was silently giving thanks for this tiny miracle. Cradling his unconscious son in his arms, he entered inside the room while taking extra precautions to not bump his own head against the door's low lintel.

The room was used as a storage place, full of crates of various sizes secured to the walls with ropes. Bill could see one was much larger than the others were. Strangely, it was opened and full of fabrics of many sorts; some of them looked like silk, others seemed to be velvet, even some lace. The crate has been opened in order to let the materials "breathe", thus avoiding mildew.

All of a sudden, Bootstrap Bill understood.

_This storage room was full of Davy Jones' souvenirs of his love!_

Of course! Materials like silk or velvet had nothing to do aboard a pirate's ship. But it was the kind of things found in a woman's closet. And only the mysterious woman, the one who had led Jones to carve out his heart, has ever been mentioned in this watery hell. Jones had never attacked a ship with women onboard, even if occasions to meet a ship with such passengers were very rare.

No wonder this storage room was kept dry: the Captain wouldn't risk his precious mementos to be destroyed by seawater now, would he?

Bill Turner's first impulse was to flee: if Jones ever found the Turners in his mausoleum! But Will moaned again, moving a little in his father's arms, and Bootstrap gritted his teeth: he didn't have the time to find another refuge and Will was in dire need of help. He made up his mind and gently lowered his son's body on the fabrics, the crate being large enough to hold Will's long frame. The young man unconsciously burrowed deeper in the materials face down, finally getting some rest after his ordeal.

Bill first divested Will of his vest and ripped shirt; a rope, tied up across two walls, could be used as an impromptu clothesline for the soaked garments. Then, there was the matter of Will's cruel cuts crisscrossing his back.

Bootstrap Bill's heart clenched at the sight of the five bleeding whiplashes Will had suffered from his father's hand. How will ever his son forgive him? How will _he_ ever forgive himself? Again, Bill shook himself out of his fear: what was more urgent now was to tend to his William. There were no medical supplies aboard the _Flying Dutchman_ since its sailors didn't need help when injured. The curse, while slowly deforming the men and turning them into freaks, also gave them unnatural abilities like breathing underwater for days, forfeiting normal food and water (except for rum), high resistance against accidents…

…_And, in the case of 'Bootstrap' Bill Turner, the gift of regeneration._

The starfish he sported nearby his right eye shifted slightly, and Bill remembered the time the little finger on his left hand got cut off during a fight between the _Dutchman's_ crewmen, years ago. The shock he'd felt when a new little finger had grew back on his hand, a few days afterwards! Then, he had remembered an old Caribbean fisherman telling him, years ago, about starfishes and their abilities to grow back a limb after an amputation.

The then-younger Bill Turner didn't believe the fisherman at the time. But over the years, he had suffered many wounds on the _Flying Dutchman_ and the regenerative power has healed them. He had felt elated at this discovery, only to realize it was a double-edged gift from the curse: by avoiding the former pirate to die from injuries, it was a sure way to keep him at Davy Jones' orders. If Bill had died too soon, he wouldn't have been able to respect his damned oath to serve under the mast for a hundred years.

Bootstrap Bill listened for an instant for any sound from outside the room, making sure they were alone. Then, he took out his knife from his coat's pocket and swiftly sliced open the palm of his left hand: a gooey, milky-white substance immediately oozed from the cut instead of blood.

Acting quickly, Bill smeared the slime on the whiplashes' marks as if it were an ointment. Then he waited, keeping a close eye on his son's wounds while the flesh of his own cut hand was knitting back together. It was stinging him a little but Bill paid no heed since he was used to it.

For a moment, the whiplashes stayed the same and the father began to worry. Maybe the regenerative gift didn't work on non-cursed humans? Suddenly, Will moaned in his sleep and his firsts were clenching the fabrics tightly, like he was getting ready to rip them into shreds. The substance on his wounds crystallized and Will's face was contorted with the pain he was feeling on his back.

Bill Turner panicked at this sight and, for the briefest instant, thought to rush to find some water, a cloth, anything to wash away the slime he had recklessly put on his son. But then, Will sighed and his face relaxed. His clenched firsts released the fabrics and his breathing went back to a normal, steady rhythm. The substance on the wounds became translucent like salt and Bill cautiously brushed some of the crystals away. To his relief, he could see the cuts have been reduced to a healed, very thin red line! In fact, it looked nothing more than a scratch. Overjoyed, Bill wiped the rest of the solidified substance away from Will's back to be sure all the cuts have been healed.

His son was saved. Bill unfolded a large piece of thick, velvety-like cloth and covered Will with it, as if it were a blanket. Feeling the extra warmth, the youngster sighed and his body shifted, turning on his back, a testimony he was free from the pain. Bootstrap Bill's barnacle-covered hand rested on Will's head, brushing away the long dark hair and stroking his brow.

Hope was slowly coming back into the elder Turner's heart. Yes, William would be able to flee from this ghost ship and his octopus-like Captain, to go back to dry land and sunshine…

_But maybe Will had sworn an oath to Davy Jones already!_

The horrible thought went through Bootstrap Bill's brain like a pistol's ball. No, oh no! Anything but _this_! Tears gathered in the elder Turner's eyes. He would do anything to spare Will this horrible fate. Watching his son slowly deteriorating under the curse would drive him into madness for certes!

Bill swore he would beg Jones – on his knees, if needed! – to release Will from his oath, even if it means an extra hundred years of service for the father. And to make sure William wouldn't refuse his father's sacrifice by noblesse of mind, Bootstrap will take him to see Wyvern at the lower deck as soon as his son will awaken. Seeing the oldest_ Flying Dutchman's_ sailor, now an integral part of the hull will be enough to chase any illusion from the youth's mind.

But now, Will was sleeping soundly. The dirty lantern was casting a feeble light within the storage room but it was enough for the cursed pirate to see his son's face. Will's pale skin was glowing in the darkness, illuminating his handsome features. He looked like the alabaster statue of a saint shining on the ocean's floor.

Bootstrap Bill felt tears escaping his sorrowful eyes and rolling down on his cheeks, but this time it wasn't out of worry about Will's future. He was crying because a forgotten feeling was returning in his heart, like a plant pushing away the imprisoning ice-covered earth to find the sun and bloom in all its glory.

_Bill Turner was feeling like a _**father**_ again._

_Bill Turner was _**proud**_ to be a _**father**.

_Bill Turner was_ **proud** _to be the_ **father** _of_ **Will Turner**. 

Sobbing, he gathered his son's body in his arms and hugged him close to his heart, knowing that he loved him. The long years away from home, the pirating, the curse, his hellish doom, all this haven't been able to erase those sparks of love Bill had carried within his heart. Tiny lights, which had somehow survived and were now spreading in the darkness, like a wildfire.

"Will, my Will, my little one," whispered Bill in his child's ear.

The soft-spoken endearments made Will smile in his sleep; for the first time in many years, he dreamt of his childhood home in England, with the sun illuminating his mother's hair and his father's eyes. His parents were holding him and he was so happy!

"Oh, my wonderful darling, my heart. I love you, William." Bill's voice broke and he gently kissed the young man's forehead.

Bootstrap Bill Turner held his son for a long time, softly weeping while treading his blue-skinned hands through Will's hair. It never occurred to him that someone or something could hear him. Right now, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Hidden in the secret storage, for once away from Jones and his crew of monsters, Bill focused his attention on cradling his child.

He didn't even realize his tears were drying on his face… and solidifying into iridescent nacre.

Nothing mattered.


	4. Priceless treasure

**Chapter 4**

**Disclaimer**: Written for fun, not for profit. All characters belong to Mickey Mouse!

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

- To Smithy: your French is quite good! ;-) _Merci beaucoup_ for your kind reviews.

- All references to marine bioluminescence come from Wikipedia!

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Time has passed. The hull's movements were now less pronounced, oscillating slowly and regularly, and Bootstrap Bill had known the storm was over. He was grateful for that; calm weather required fewer men on deck duty, but also because Will has been able to sleep without risking falling down from his impromptu bed. The candle inside the lantern was burning out, its wick almost completely burned in a small poodle of wax, bringing more darkness in Davy Jones' secret storage room.

Bill sighed and watched his sleeping son. Nostalgia clouded his eyes when souvenirs of Will as a child came back to his mind, snug in his little bed and hugging a wooden toy boat to his chest, worn out by a day spent playing outside with his friends. The little lad was so full of energy! But he also had a streak of seriousness that was sometimes unnerving. For someone so young, Will was already showing a backbone made of steel. Bill used to jokingly say his son had his father's looks and his mother's brains, but little had he known that his prediction would turn out to be true.

The cursed sailor sighed again: he hated to do this, but he'll have to wake up Will. Soon it will be their turn to be on fatigue-duty and there was still the risk of being discovered in this forbidden room. Somehow, Bootstrap Bill doubted the twins Bib and Bob would keep quiet if asked the whereabouts of the Turners. This respite has been a blessing, giving them some time to nurse Will's whiplashes and to rest, but his father knew better than try to push his luck, especially aboard the _Flying Dutchman_.

_But first…._

Again, the elder Turner took out his knife from his tattered coat's pocket. The knife had belonged to his father, Will's grandpa, who had been hanged for smuggling goods when Billy had been only ten years old. It was like a family heirloom and Bootstrap Bill had resigned himself to be never able to pass it to his William. Now the knife's ivory handle was covered with moss and shells – like its owner – but the blade was still good and sharp, protected by its leather case. Bill vowed himself to give it to his son after finding a way to escape the ghost ship. But the knife will be useful to him one last time.

Bill stroked his son's head, treading the dark hair between his fingers. Long, damp locks had escaped from a loose ponytail and the knife easily cut one on the back of Will's head: the youngster will never notice its disappearance. Bill swiftly tucked the severed lock of hair beneath his torn shirt, hiding his treasure from prying eyes. Now he will carry a small part of his child forever with him while sailing before the mast of Hell's most notorious ship. And no one, not even Jones, will confiscate this memento from him!

Lost in his dreams, Will have not moved an inch during the whole operation. Bootstrap Bill reached out and lightly caressed the young man's cheek with two fingers.

"Will? Wake up, son."

Will sighed and turned his face into the touch of his father's barnacle-covered hand. Bill's heart melted for a moment… just to be kicked by his reason, urging him to get a move on! Regretfully he called out, louder this time:

"Will, wake up. Now."

Will's eyes snapped open and the elder Turner backed off slightly, worried about his son's reaction at waking up to find a monster standing over him. The young man sat up in his crate, looking confused at his environments while clutching the velvety fabric to his bare chest. The dim light cast by the lantern wasn't helping any to figure out what had happened to him.

"Will, everything's fine, son. You've been sleeping for about two hours. We have to go back on deck now."

Bill's voice rose softly in the room and Will blinked, trying to get his eyes used to the feeble light. One look at his father's deteriorated face prompted Will's memory about the last hours' events: _Jack tricking him to go onboard the fake Flying Dutchman… his fight with the nightmarish creatures… Davy Jones… His father…_

_The whip!_

Startled, Will tried to feel the wounds on his back with his hand. Much to his surprise, the five lacerations have disappeared, as well as the searing pain! He looked over his shoulder and the little he could see was unmarked skin. Have he had dreamt all this?

"T-the lashes! What happened?"

Bootstrap Bill had a sad smile: "I've mended them. Being a monster has its advantages, sometimes."

Will stared at the doomed sailor, and Bill couldn't help but feel regrets and shame. Now that his son was awake, they were strangers again and he could blame no one for the situation but himself. Years ago, he had agreed to forfeit any honest life to go pirating; did he ever stop to think about the hurtful actions his decision would cause, to hundreds of innocent sailors as well as his wife and son?

_No, 'Bootstrap' Bill Turner, you didn't. Or better, when you figured out your mistake, it was too late. The damage has already been done… and Hector Barbossa overthrew Jack from his command._

Will snapped out of his reverie and got out of his makeshift bed, discarding the velvet blanket. His father handed him his white shirt and there was another surprise for Will: the large rip on the back of the garment, compliments of Jones' crewmembers, was now sewed back together with large stitches. William looked at his father, who said: "I've mended it, too." Years of sailing have taught Bill Turner how to sew, even if he had given up mending his own clothes since he'd agreed to serve under Jones.

Will smiled and put back on his shirt, feeling a bit less vulnerable. He reached out to his vest but his father stopped his arm, looking alarmed:

"Shh!"

Instinctively, Will silenced and Bootstrap Bill put out the feeble flame of the candle using two fingers. As soon as the lantern was extinguished, Will could see his father's eyes changing into blue lights, reminding him of the sea glowing on moonless tropical nights. Experience had taught him it was due to the presence of luminescent sorts of coral, crustaceans, clams or fishes in the water. It was eerie to see human eyes flashing like a marine creature but Bill grabbed his son's hand, urging him to be quiet.

Will felt panic striking his heart as he could hear loud footsteps trampling just outside the storage room, and from the sound of it one could guess there were large, hostile creatures coming their way grunting and cursing. Bootstrap Bill closed his eyes and the luminescent ability vanished, completely darkening their hideout this time. But the intruders ignored Jones' storage room and moved along; soon their footsteps decreased and silence returned.

The elder Turner opened his eyes again and the blue light returned in the cramped room.

"We must go now, Will. We cannot be discovered here," whispered Bill.

The father hadn't let go of his son's hand. Will nodded and, out of impulse, intertwined his fingers with Bootstrap Bill's and squeezed.

Surprised, the former pirate looked at Will's face, luminous and beautiful in the bluish glow, and then at their hands locked together in an iron grip.

Bill Turner squeezed back – tightly.


	5. A heart of gold

**Chapter 5**

**DISCLAIMER**: The same as chapter 1.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**:

- Many thanks to Janis, Smithy and the White Witch!

- To all my reviewers: you are so kind, thank you! I appreciate your appreciations! ;-)

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The return to the deck was long and tedious for the Turners. Bootstrap Bill was leading the way, his son right behind him. Bill was mindful the dim light and the multiple obstacles could pose a threat to Will's safety: apart from bumping into the various crates and tools discarded in the corridors, they could also run into less-than-friendly creatures.

Bill Turner didn't have time to explain the _Flying Dutchman_ was an ever-moving watery house of horrors. The sailors not only turned into monsters, but the majority of them actually _enjoyed_ their cursed state, giving them powers beyond the imagination and the ability to perpetrate evil deeds unpunished – apart from the discipline Davy Jones imposed to his crewmembers. Others, like Bill, were resigned to their sad fate, trying to avoid trouble at all costs until the curse destroys the last fragments of their humanity.

So Bootstrap Bill, former pirate and doomed mariner, was taking extra precautions while leading his son to the main deck. But before they'd reach open air, the elder Turner wanted Will to see old Wyvern: a horrible sight to behold! And yet, Bootstrap Bill was determined to erase any false ideas in his son's mind about the doom waiting for him aboard. Oath sworn or not, Will _had_ to escape from Jones' clutches and Bill would help in any way, even if it meant for the father the brig, keelhauling punishment or even an everlastingly curse.

Silently, Bill Turner led his William to the cooking galley, where Wyvern was permanently posted as a lantern-holder. Will followed his father, unknowingly led to a detour when, out of the shadows, he heard sniggers behind his back!

The young man turned around but he couldn't make anything out of the dim light. For a second he thought he had misheard when the giggling started again.

"**_Goin' som'wher', pretty boy?" _**hissed a voice within the shadows.

Will felt cold shivers running down his spine, only this time it wasn't due to his damp clothes and hair. He turned back to Bootstrap Bill to ask what was happening but the man had disappeared within the corridors, unaware his child has fallen behind. Will decided to catch up on his father when icy-cold hands grabbed him and slammed him against a wall. For a second, Will thought Davy Jones had found him but he soon realized to his horror that it was another cursed mariner, with a face shaped like a stingray fish and looking at him with dark, unfeeling eyes.

"**_Ask'd ya a question, pretty boy!" _**said the monster,**_ "Ya i'norin' me?"_**

Will fought with all his might but the sailor pinning his arms against the wooden wall was too strong. He could almost have choked to death from the foul breath he was receiving right in his face. Moreover, Will's struggles seemed to increase the monster's wrath that tightened even more his hold on his victim. The sight of the disfigured sailor was enough to scare the bravest man out of his wits but the young Turner wasn't the kind of man to surrender at any enemy without a fight.

"**_Ye got 'eart, boy, I gave you dat!" _**sneered the sailor.**_ "Lemme see it!"_**

He grabbed at the vest to tear it open and then yelped out in pain when Will's foot collided with his leg, deftly snapping a rotten kneecap in two. The young man kicked again for good measure and his aggressor lost his grip on him, yelling horrible obscenities.

Will wasted no time and fled in the galley, hoping to find a weapon or anything to defend himself when he heard a trampling just behind him. It was the stingray-man running awkwardly after him, mindless of the broken leg he was dragging behind him on the waterlogged floor. A whip-like tail has risen from the stingray-man's back and it was finished by a razor-sharp barbed stinger, pointed directly at Will.

"**_Ye'll pay for dat, boy! I gonna stab ye 'eart!"_** roared the monster.

Before Will could think of anything, a blur of torn clothes passed in front of his eyes and he found himself looking at his aggressor behind a coral-spouting shoulder clad in a tattered coat. Bootstrap Bill was shielding his son with his own body, one of his hands maintaining Will behind for better protection while wielding a knife in the other.

"Get out of here, Derrick! Go on!" yelled the elder Turner.

"**_G'owing a backbone, Bootst'ap? Dat'd be de day!"_** snarled Derrick in return.

"You will not harm my son. Now clear off before I gut you out!"

The stingray-man glared at Bill, furious at his own carelessness. He had underestimated the younger man's strength and resourcefulness in the first place and now there was an obstacle preventing him to retrieve his prey. His animal instinct told him to charge at the Turners but a second look made him hesitate: the older man had a knife in hand and, judging by his blue eyes shining in anger, he was resolute to use it. Fighting against armed and skilled opponents wasn't to Derrick's liking; moreover there was also his broken leg to think about.

Sneering, Derrick let the matter drop and fled back to the shadows, yet he couldn't leave without spiting a last threat from over his shoulder: **_"Ye gonna get it, Bootst'ap!"_** The echoes of his clumsy footsteps decreased quickly; minutes later he was gone.

Bill Turner sighed and put his knife back in his coat pocket. He turned to his son, getting ready to apologize for the incident but Will just nodded and said: "Thank you."

Bootstrap could even start to express how much this reconnaissance meant to him. But he couldn't tell his child – and he would never. Even if he loved this young man, he couldn't forgive himself for abandoning him years ago for dreams of easy fortune, which had turned into nightmares. Besides, how could Will ever mention being fathered by a cursed seaman? That wasn't something prideful to note in the family tree.

Bill's eyes misted as if his shame prevented him to look at his son, then he headed towards his initial route. The young man followed through while putting his vest back in place. They soon arrived at the cook's galley and Bill spoke out again:

"Derrick, Jimmy Legs, Maccus, myself… all of us, we suffer the same fate. A hundred years before the mast, loosing who you were, bit by bit, 'till you end up like… like poor Wyvern over here."

Bill gestured towards the statue of a sailor holding a lantern in his outstretched hand. William didn't understand what his father has meant; the statue looked like it was made of the same wood as the ship's beams. It was also covered in barnacles and coral, making it undistinguishable from the hull at the first glance. Has it been carved in memoriam of a slain sailor? Then, nearby the statue's nose, a particle of coral was moving rhythmically and Will realized his mistake: the "artwork" was breathing… because it used to be a human being, now reduced to be part of the ship!

Horrified, Will turned to his father who nodded sadly: "Once you've sworn an oath to the _Flying Dutchman_, there's no leaving it. Not until your debt is paid."

"I've sworn no oath" answered Will at once. That was the truth: Davy Jones had been so cheerful about extorting a hundred more souls from Jack Sparrow that he had completely forgotten about Will's presence onto his ship.

Bootstrap Bill's eyes sparkled like blue stars at his son's answer: "Then you must get away!"

"Not until I find this," said Will showing his father the dirty piece of cloth where the outline of the key has been drawn. "It is supposed to be onboard, this is why I came."

All of a sudden, a feeble voice was heard from the wall:

"The Dead Man's chest!"

Will almost jumped out of his skin: Wyvern had torn himself from his coral-and-wood sarcophagi, leaving his stuck brains behind him. The wet, breaking sounds were disgusting to hear and Will had a hard time to keep his eyes on the creature.

"Open the chest with the key, and stab the heart…" muttered Wyvern. "NO! Don't stab the heart! The _Dutchman_ must have a living heart or there is no captain! And if there's no captain, there's no one to have the key!"

"Jones has the key?" asked Will. "Where is it?"

"Hidden," answered Wyvern, who seemed suddenly afraid to have talked too much. He withdrew back to his mummified state when Will asked: "Where is the chest?"

"Hidden," said Wyvern once again, then he closed his eyes and became silent once more, turning back into a statue.

Bootstrap Bill was puzzled: it has been five years since old Wyvern had last talked. The simple sketch of a key held by his son has been enough to wake him up! And it wasn't any ordinary key either; it was the one unlocking the chest where Davy Jones had secured his heart after carving it out. He looked at Will straight in the eyes:

"What do you want Jones' key for?"

"I need it to save someone… Elizabeth. She's my bride-to-be. About a year ago, we helped Jack escaping the gallows after retrieving the _Black Pearl_ from Barbossa and his crew."

"Jack told me about that… About how you helped him to gain back his ship. I thought you had ended up a pirate. Like father, like son."

"No," said Will. "It's a long story, but our mutual acquaintance with Jack got the both of us arrested by order of Lord Beckett from the East India Company. Beckett offered me a bargain: Jack's compass against Elizabeth's freedom. He's keeping Elizabeth in jail to make sure I'd come back. When I found Jack, he told me he would trade his compass against the key. We consulted a voodoo priestess, a friend of his, to find where the Flying Dutchman was but all we found was an attacked ship."

"But you didn't know anything about the _Flying Dutchman_?" asked Bootstrap Bill incredulously. "Or the debt Jack owned to Davy Jones?"

"He told me nothing about his soul-debt. And I've never heard about the _Flying Dutchman_ before today. Now I understand why he sent me alone aboard the scuttled ship. Jack wanted me to square his debt towards Jones with my life – and my soul."

Bootstrap Bill blanched at Will's tale, barely believing his own ears.

Jack had betrayed Will.

Jack had **_betrayed_** Will.

Captain Jack Sparrow had tricked a friend – a man who had saved him from the gallows – into becoming Jones' slave while he saved his sorry skin out of fear of the Kraken.

Jack had betrayed Will Turner, son of Jack's former best friend and shipmate.

_**Jack had bargained with William's life!**_

Bill was barely containing his rage. His face was turning purple under the barnacles, his eyes were full of blue fire and Will stepped back, worried at his father's change of expression. If a _Dutchman'_s crewmember had stepped into the galley at this moment, he wouldn't have recognized Bootstrap Bill – the usually quiet, subdued Turner – from this picture of hellish fury.

_**Jack had bargained with William's life!**_

Never, in a thousand years, would Bill have thought of Jack capable of such an act of cowardice! Fast-talking, quick-thinking, escape-artist Captain Jack Sparrow who had led his men for years through hurricanes, pursuits, pillages and the Crown's wrath; always the winner, tricking God and the Devil in the same breath, seeming invincible. But now, Jack had finally been reduced to use the lowest trick ever knew to mankind: sacrificing an innocent to save his own life.

Bootstrap suddenly sighed, cursing himself for the thousand times: why on Earth had he ever listened to Jack Sparrow? Not only he was bearing the consequences of pirating, but now his son and his fiancée had been caught into the line of fire, as well.

At least, his William had stayed true to himself: he wasn't a pirate, and he didn't board on the _Flying Dutchman_ out of greed for riches. Will had followed his heart – a heart of gold! – to save the woman he loved from the executioner's hands. Once more, his look-alike son has proven himself being a stronger soul than his old man.

"**Bootst'ap?"** asked two voices in chorus.

Bill turned around and saw the joined twins, Bib and Bob, standing awkwardly at the galley's doorway.

"We did our sha'e of the deal, Bootst'ap." said one twin.

"So whe'e de rum?" asked his brother.

Bill Turner hadn't realized how much time has passed since his last conversation with the twins, when he was rushing downstairs to give his son some much-needed help. He remembered his promise of rum against the brothers' silence and cooperation.

"I'll be with you in a moment," said the elder Turner before asking Will if he could go back to the upper deck on his own. Will answered affirmatively, and Bill went back to the ship's bowels with Bib and Bob in tow to reach his hammock and the bottle of rum nestled inside.

When he came back to the main deck, he found his William observing a game of Liar's Dice played between Maccus, Koleniko and Clanker.


	6. A diamond soul

**Chapter 6**

**DISCLAIMER:** The same as chapter 1.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:**

- I used to think chapter 5 would be the last one but due to the kindness of my wonderful reviewers, I wrote an epilogue. Enjoy! ;-)

- This chapter is dedicated to Lily-Anne.

--------------------------------

_**(After the game of Liar's Dice and Will stealing the key from Davy Jones)**_

The men on deck watch were all sleeping soundly, thanks to Davy Jones' carelessness.

For the third time tonight, the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_ has made a mistake: the first one was forgetting to coerce Will Turner to serve onboard; the second was agreeing to play a dangerous game of Liar's Dice with the young man; and, last but not the least, he had let the night watch without supervision, so the crewmen have been drinking rum heartily for hours. Now the main deck was nothing but a dormitory for drunken monsters producing various kinds of snores and grunts. Bootstrap Bill has easily removed Greenbeard from the wheel – using a lame excuse, _"Captain's orders"_, but cuttle-fish-faced Greenbeard wasn't noted to be very smart – while Will sneaked into Jones' cabin to steal his key.

Bill was working quietly and efficiency to ready a longboat for his William's escape. After Greenbeard had left, the elder Turner had spotted a merchant ship, the _Edinburgh Trader_, innocently sailing a few leagues starboard of the _Flying Dutchman_. The night's ink-like darkness and the men's drunkenness have prevented the _Edinburgh Trader_ to become one of Jones' victims and Bill had quietly thanked the heavens for this. His son wouldn't have gone very far on a longboat in open waters but he had a chance to catch a ride aboard the merchant ship. And with a bit of luck, Davy Jones wouldn't notice Will's escape before it would be too late.

Quiet footsteps resounded behind him and Bootstrap Bill turned around: it was Will, securing the Dead Man Chest's key around his neck by its leather strap. Despite of the circumstances, Bill couldn't help but feel prideful of his son. He had managed to take the key from Jones. Talent for stealing forbidden goods was definitively running in the family!

Bill handed Will his sword, which has been confiscated during the young man's capture by the _Dutchman'_s sailors, and then he slipped into his son's hand a small leather case.

"Here, take this too…"

Will recognized the object at once: it was the knife his father had used earlier to defend him against Derrick. He got the blade out and the metal shone briefly under the moonlight.

"…now get yourself to land, and stay there," finished Bootstrap Bill.

Will looked at the cursed sailor with mixed emotions clouding his face: hope, relief, disappointment, despair... It was cruel to leave his father after having spent so little time with him! Will knew his father didn't have a chance to free himself from his enslavement but deep in his heart, he had hoped against all odds that they would flee together from Jones' clutches. When would they ever be together again?

"It was always in my blood to die at sea," said Bill Turner, "but it was not a fate I ever wanted for you."

"It's not a fate you had to choose for yourself, either" answered Will bitterly, looking at the devastating effects of the terrible curse on his father's face.

Bootstrap Bill had a sad smile: "Ah. I could say I did what I had to do, when I left you to go pirating. But it would taste a lie to say it wasn't what I wanted."

_Oh Will, do not pity me. I have accepted my doom. But it would be unfair that you should bear the consequences of my past actions. Not you, my marvelous darling, my little one. My William._

"You owe me nothing, Will. Now, go."

Will was desperate: there should be a way, anything, to convince his father to go with him! Finally, he blurted out, gesturing at the snoring crew: "They'll know you helped me!"

That actually brought a laugh from Bootstrap Bill: "What more can they do to me?"

_Jones has already chained my life and my soul for an eternity on this ship! But he won't have my heart. He won't have _**you**_, Will!_

The young man sighed in frustration. Time was running out and there was still the matter of Elizabeth held hostage by Lord Beckett in Port Royal. But his chivalrous nature was outraged at the idea of leaving his wretched father behind. Showing the knife he had just been given, he swore an oath aboard the _Flying Dutchman_. Only his time, it had nothing to do with its Captain's usual blackmail on terrorized sailors.

"I take this with a promise," said Will. "I'll find a way to sever Jones' hold on you. And will not rest until this blade pierces his heart. I will _not_ abandon you!"

Startled, Bootstrap Bill stared at his child who had just sworn to free him. For a second, he thought of refusing but another glance at Will's face killed any kind of protest in his throat. His William was the picture of resolution, enlightened by his dark brown gaze… The windows of his diamond soul, his mother's eyes.

_Mary…_

In a flash, a series of images appeared in Bootstrap Bill's mind: _him free from Jones… reaching Port Royal… Will and his beautiful wife… William Turner III sleeping in his cradle, watched over by his doting grandfather…_

Will looked at his father one last time, and sealed his oath with his word: "I promise."

And, as brusquely as he had appeared in his father's cursed life, Will dashed for the longboat, climbed into it and disappeared on the night.

Bootstrap Bill stood on the deck, long after Will's boat was out of sight. Never, since Barbossa had sentenced him to an eternity of torment, had he ever allowed himself to be hopeful again. Would that ever be possible? Would his son be strong enough to lift the curse, freeing the _Dutchman'_s mariners and sending Davy Jones to Hell where he belonged?

Bill was unsure about clinging to the tiny particle of hope his son has given him as a good-bye present. He knew he should be happy his son had escaped the ghost ship with his soul intact. And yet, Will's promise was now burning in his father's heart, chasing away the despair that had inhabited it for so long.

_If someone can do it, it's Will._

And Bootstrap Bill smiled in the darkness.

THE END!


End file.
